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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228354">When the Ground Shakes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble'>MajorTrouble</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Humor, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Scenting, Tumblr Prompt, blowjob, emotional dumbass geralt, i love that that is a tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:29:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,806</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25228354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MajorTrouble/pseuds/MajorTrouble</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The voice in his head is getting more insistent that he do something about those "feelings" he has for the bard. But. He can just ignore them, right? Right?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>154</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When the Ground Shakes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>tumblr prompt!: I really love the concept of Geralt finding out about his own feelings by behaving jealously around Jaskier (because Geralt is an emotional dumbass and doesn't actually know what he's feeling till he has a visceral and possibly embarrassing reaction haha)</p><p>I hope this lives up to expectations!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In every morning, there’s a sort of calm that settles right before the first rays of sunlight break over the horizon. Almost like the world exhales once, letting out the tensions of the night. The half-remembered conversations; the stealthy footsteps; the knives in the dark. There is a bluntness to this time, a softness that stretches out for an infinite moment before the hazy light of the sun makes itself known.</p><p>Or maybe Geralt is just being romantic. Maybe he only notices it because this is when he hears the door to their shared room open and Jaskier steal back inside, quiet and fleeting as a shadow. It happens nearly every time they’re in a reasonable sized village. The bard sings for his supper - their supper most times - and then catches the eye of some willing patron and Geralt ends up alone in the room they’ve rented, the second bed still neatly made but cold. </p><p>He begins to wonder why they rent rooms with two beds at all. And that brings up other, darker thoughts in his head that he tries his best to ignore. Though they have been travelling together for nearly five years on and off at this point, his thoughts still shy away from his own feelings. Their friendship is an easy thing. It’s full of shared amusements and ribald jokes and a settled feeling of companionship that sits just under Geralt’s skin like a balm against the rest of the world. </p><p>But he wonders what Jaskier really gets out of this. Is fodder for his endless ballads and songs enough to warrant the constant travel? The disparaging looks and comments? He knows Jaskier enjoys a good fight now and then - “He insulted my singing! Called it worse than a cat in heat! I’ll fucking show him a thing or two about <em> claws</em>” - and enjoys the experiences of new cities and places and people, but is it enough? </p><p>Geralt sighs and turns onto his other side, the bed creaking as he moves. He’s facing out into the room now, and the wane moonlight pools on the floor between the two beds. It catches on the edges of their packs and glints on the rivets of his armour. It highlights the empty bed on the other side of the room. </p><p>Of course the bard is out tonight. This is their first time in a village for a fortnight, and he’d played for hours in the tavern down the road. He must have gone off with someone after Geralt had retired early, intent on restocking his potions and sleeping in a real bed. </p><p><em> Fucking bard couldn’t wait one night to get into someone’s bed. </em> There’s an anger flickering in his chest that he can’t put a name to. <em> Fine company, indeed. He should be here. Should be - </em> </p><p>And there are those thoughts again. He tries to blank his mind before they slip loose and betray him. Even saying them in the comfort of his own head makes them somehow more real, and he can’t let that happen. </p><p><em> Should be mine. </em> The thought flashes out, like someone is whispering it in his ear, and he squeezes his eyes shut, drawing breath through gritted teeth in a sharp inhale. <em> But he’s not. He never will be. You’re a coward. </em> </p><p>He lays there in the early hours of morning, dragging his feelings back into their little box inside himself, regulating his breathing and trying not to hear that voice.</p><p>Just before the first rays of sunlight break over the horizon, the door opens and Jaskier slips into their room like a shadow.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>It’s a month later and they’re in another town, another tavern, and Jaskier is singing. Geralt is at the bar, back to the room as he drinks his ale and speaks with the alderman about a contract. It’s a simple case of drowners - of fucking course - and shouldn’t take more than a few hours to sort out in the morning. There’s a more lucrative contract further along the road for a possible kikimora, though, and the alderman is just giving him the details when the fight breaks out. </p><p>Surprisingly, he thinks later, Jaskier didn’t start it. He has no idea who did, but before he realizes it, he’s practically leapt across the room to stand between the bard and immediate danger. Jaskier, for his part, is looking almost gleeful as he continues to play, laughing almost manically as someone lands a particularly good punch. </p><p>“What the fuck, Jaskier?” Geralt growls, grabbing his elbow and dragging him as quickly as he can around the edge of the room and out of harm’s way. Luckily, the patrons are more focused on each other than anyone else. The barman looks resigned for some reason as he leans against the bar. He waves a hand absently back at Jaskier as they leave. </p><p>Geralt practically slams the door behind them. “That was not fucking funny. You could have gotten hurt.” He pushes the other man up against the wall beside the door, eyes tracking across his body to check for injury. When they land on his face, Jaskier is still giggling, cheeks flushed and eyes bright as they stare at each other. </p><p>Geralt’s hands twitch with the need to touch, to make sure that what his eyes are seeing is true. He suppresses the feeling with a supreme effort of will.</p><p>Something bright and warm snaps in Geralt’s chest and he hisses a breath through his teeth. It must come out sounding like anger because Jaskier visibly tries to control himself, smoothing one hand through his sweat-damp locks and using the other to pull the lute over his shoulder so he can hold it away from them by the neck.</p><p>“Yeah, all right. Not as funny as I think, sure. But!” he holds up one finger. “They’d been sniping at each other all night. I think there’s a family feud in this town.” He grins again as Geralt rolls his eyes and backs off, turning to lead the way to their accommodations. He hears Jaskier trotting behind him to keep up. “Feuds make for great songs!” </p><p>Later that night, lying awake and staring across the room as Jaskier sleeps peacefully in the other bed, Geralt wonders at his instinctual protectiveness of the bard: his first thought at the disturbance had been to put himself between Jaskier and danger. This had, of course, become a natural dynamic of their relationship, but the overwhelming need to touch, to make sure he was all right, whole and uninjured, had nearly caused him to make his assessment with his hands instead of just his eyes. He lets out a frustrated sigh and rolls onto his other side. </p><p>He was being a good friend, nothing more. Jaskier was in trouble, even if it was just perceived, and he’d done what all friends would do - made sure he didn’t get hurt. He nods to himself, there in the dark, confident in his rationalisation. The tension in his shoulders eases somewhat and he closes his eyes, feeling sleep edging in on his mind.</p><p><em> Coward</em>, the voice whispers.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>They’re trapped. The guards had chased them through the keep and they’d hidden in the first room with an unlocked door they could find. Unfortunately, the tiny room had no other exits - no door, no window, the shelves on either side of them stacked with linens and smelling of lavender. The only light is from two glowing lanterns hung above their heads on hooks protruding from the shelves. </p><p>Jaskier shuts and latches the door behind them, but as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, Geralt slaps his hand over it, glaring at him. The other man’s eyes are wide as they stare up at him and Geralt is suddenly aware of the smell of honeysuckle mixing in with the almost overpowering lavender before they both hear the voices of the guards just beyond the door. Both stand tense in the semi-darkness as the sound of shouts and pounding feet rush by their hiding place and further down the hall. Jaskier reaches up and grips his hand - ostensibly to remove it - but another harsh glance from the Witcher stops him. They wait and listen as another cadre of heavy footsteps passes outside before Geralt relaxes, releasing Jaskier and stepping back.</p><p>The bard stares at him for a moment, eyes bright and shining in the light from the eerily glowing lanterns before he looks away, hands fidgeting at the edges of his doublet, tugging it back to rights from where it had gotten rucked up in their headlong flight from the audience hall. He clears his throat and the sharp scent of pine and sap - embarrassment? shame? - tinges the air. </p><p>“That did not go at all how I imagined,” he half-whispers. Geralt scoffs. “What? How was I supposed to know the werewolf was his daughter?”</p><p>“Perhaps you should have considered that before launching into your grandiose tale of slaying the foul beast. I told you to keep your mouth shut.”</p><p>“No you didn’t!” Jaskier hisses at him, stepping forward. “You told me that this wouldn’t make a good story, and I begged to differ!”</p><p>Geralt rolls his eyes, something he finds himself doing a lot these days. “That’s why I left you here to play for the Duke. So you wouldn’t get any ideas about spinning this into some romantic epic.” He crosses his arms, standing his ground despite being almost nose-to-nose with the angry man. “She was cursed, and I couldn’t reverse it. He was understandably upset that you described his only daughter as a ‘foul beast’.”</p><p>Jaskier glares at him for a moment before seeming to deflate, turning back to look at the door. “I suppose you’re right.” He looks over his shoulder at Geralt, flashing a smile. “Probably also shouldn’t have slept with his son then, should I?”</p><p>Geralt bristles, arms falling to his sides and hands balling into fists. “You what.” he says, very softly, and is slightly satisfied at the way Jaskier’s Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. He moves forward and Jaskier scrambles to get out of his way until his back is pressed against the door. </p><p>“Now, now Geralt! This is no time to be placing blame! You did murder his daughter in cold - “ Jaskier is cut off by the hand now around his throat. </p><p><em> Mine, </em> says that traitorous voice in Geralt’s head. </p><p>“Jaskier. You’re going to get us both killed if you keep this up.” Geralt’s voice is still soft. He looks over the bard’s shoulder at the door, listening intently before moving his other hand to the latch. “Let’s go.”</p><p>Jaskier nods his head frantically as he’s released, the air filling again with the smell of honeysuckle.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>He can hear them. Worse, he can smell them. </p><p>This contract was supposed to be easy money. Geralt hates bodyguard duty, but these are the lean months of early autumn and the merchants had paid well so he’d agreed to contract to the caravan heading out to this Lord’s estate. </p><p>He should have expected Jaskier to be at the festival. Geralt had watched from the outskirts as the bard had provided entertainment throughout the late afternoon and into the evening, traipsing back and forth across the raised stage and winking out at his appreciative audience, before jumping down and mingling amongst them. He’d lost sight of him at some point, and now he knew why. </p><p>The man on his knees in front of the bard is clearly enjoying himself, as far as Geralt can tell. They’ve hidden themselves away from prying eyes, but Geralt can hear the breathy moans and gasps Jaskier is making as he gets his cock sucked. He can hear the words of praise tumbling from those lips, and the lewd slurping sounds as the man on the ground bobs his head. </p><p>He can smell honeysuckle and salt. He can smell wine and wax. And he can smell it when Jaskier comes, can hear him groan and the thump his head makes as he throws it back and hits it against the wall of the tavern behind him. </p><p>Geralt grits his teeth. Everything in him wants to stalk over and rip the man off his bard, snarl and snap at him for daring to touch what is his. </p><p>Instead he listens as Jaskier murmurs to the other man, hears the sound of skin on skin, and the shivery moan he makes. </p><p><em> He’s not yours. Coward. </em> Geralt walks away, back into the festival to find something strong enough to burn the smell of honeysuckle from his nose. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>He tries not to think about it. Tries not to look when Jaskier unabashedly strips down to jump into a lake or stream when they find one to wash off. Tries not to shiver at the touch of his hands when the bard brushes against him or dresses his wounds. Tries not to think about the sounds he can hear through the thin walls of the inn, staring at the empty bed on the other side of the room. </p><p>But <em> everyone </em> touches Jaskier. Whether he’s playing in a tavern full of raucous townsfolk or a banquet hall or even in a village square, busking for coin, people reach out and leave their marks on him. It makes his hands itch, makes his teeth grit, makes the voice in his head whisper even louder.</p><p>
  <em> Should be mine. Coward. Take what’s yours before there’s nothing left.  </em>
</p><p>It comes to a head at the end of a perfectly lovely night in summer. Jaskier finishes his playing, coming to sit beside Geralt at the corner table he’s been watching him from the whole night. Jaskier’s cheeks are rosy, his smile quick and easy, and his eyes bright. </p><p>“You’re still here! Thought you didn’t go in for these crowded venues,” he teases lightly, nodding as the barmaid drops a tankard of ale in front of him. He drinks deeply before grinning again at his companion. “Though I do appreciate you sticking around. I make significantly more when I can point out the object of my song sitting brooding in the corner.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt supplies helpfully. Jaskier laughs, drinking again and leaning back in his chair. </p><p>“Ah, good, you haven’t lost your charm. Oh hello,” he looks up as a man approaches him, and licks his lips. “And who might you be?”</p><p>The man grins, sitting in the empty chair beside Jaskier and running his tongue along his bottom lip. “An admirer,” he says, and Geralt is already bristling at his suggestive tone. “You have such a lovely voice,” he continues. He reaches out a hand to touch Jaskier and that’s when Geralt’s hand snaps out, catching the man’s wrist in a painful grip. He lets out a strangled yelp and Jaskier looks over at Geralt in alarm. </p><p>Geralt stares the man in the eye and manages to grit out, “He’s not singing for you tonight. Go home.” </p><p>The man glances between Geralt and Jaskier, but the latter isn’t looking at him, so he makes an affirmative noise and Geralt releases him. He staggers to his feet and flees out of the tavern as fast as his feet will take him. Geralt watches him go before looking back at Jaskier. </p><p>Jaskier, who is staring at him in open-mouthed astonishment. The smell of honeysuckle and salt is thick in the air.</p><p>Geralt is the first to look away, staring back down at his empty tankard. </p><p>He hears Jaskier clear his throat before trying to speak. “What - what was that?” he asks, uncertainty lacing his voice. </p><p>Geralt growls to himself before getting up and heading up to their room. He listens as Jaskier scrambles to follow. </p><p><em> He’ll always follow. Mine. </em> The voice is louder now. </p><p>He waits until they’re both standing in the middle of the room, door firmly closed, before turning back to look at Jaskier. The bard isn’t angry, more curious. And that honeysuckle scent never wavers. </p><p>
  <em> He likes it. Likes when you protect him.  </em>
</p><p>“What was that?” Jaskier asks again, voice calm. </p><p>Geralt closes his eyes, hoping that will give him more courage, somehow. “I - I don’t want - “ he starts, and stops again. He sighs. “I don’t like it when others touch you.”</p><p>Jaskier snorts. “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.” </p><p>Geralt’s eyes fly open. Is that sarcasm? He furrows his brows. </p><p>Jaskier laughs and steps forward. “You’re not as mysterious and unreadable as you think you are.”</p><p>Geralt bares his teeth and grabs his wrists, dragging him forward so they’re touching, chest to thighs. He buries his nose in the juncture of Jaskier’s shoulder and throat and the bard sighs, relaxing against him, like he’s been waiting for this. Geralt feels the smile on his lips as Jaskier leans into his chest.</p><p>Jaskier smells like honeysuckle and salt, wine and wax. </p><p>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank-you for reading &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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